by H. Eccleston.
Originally published in The Poet's Magazine (Leonard Lloyd) vol.1 #5 (Jan 1877).
Oft do my fervid fancies wing
Their course thro' intervening years,
To find the flower-enmargéd spring,
Whence memory draws her sweetest tears.
By worldly cravings unbeguil'd,
I lose all sense of mortal cares;
Again I seem to be a child,
And life its brightest aspect wears.
Thus, for a space, with spirit glad
I revel in fond scenes of yore;
But phantoms rise, and leave me sad—
For those I loved are now no more.
Yet from such bitters I'll distil
The sweets that give life greater zest;
For gen'rous hope my cup shall fill,
And I shall quaff her wine of rest.